


young numb and broken

by wingedgrace



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Batfamily, Batfamily Angst, Batfamily Feels, Dick Grayson Feels, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson-centric, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Has Issues, but sometimes life is just so damn hard, but that actually kinda saves the day, everyone's trying their best, or lack thereof, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28997685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedgrace/pseuds/wingedgrace
Summary: His bare feet were covered in cold, damp sand, and he could barely feel them.Well, he could feel them, but they didn’t seem to be connected to his body.Or maybe it washimthat wasn’t connected to his body.(or: poor Dick Grayson needs some love and a chance to catch his breath.)
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 99





	young numb and broken

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is unbetaed and had only rudimentary editing so like if any of the verbs are the wrong tense or I repeat the same word like a gazillion times in one sentence that's probably why. I might edit this in the morning when I'm less tired but for now I just kinda wanna get it posted. Enjoy :)
> 
> (and yes, the title is a play on the song title Young Dumb & Broke.)  
> (and if you're waiting on my wingfic to get updated, don't worry, it's coming eventually, never fear. I just keep procrastinating writing it lmao)

His bare feet were covered in cold, damp sand, and he could barely feel them.

Well, he could feel them, but they didn’t seem to be connected to his body.

Or maybe it was _him_ that wasn’t connected to his body.

He looked down, at the tshirt that was merch from some band he loved as a teenager. At the jeans he’d thrown on, old and unwashed and gross, but somehow still the cleanest pair of pants he owned. He very pointedly didn’t think about the enormous pile of unwashed laundry waiting for him in his apartment.

He wiggled his toes deeper into the sand, considered putting his shoes back on and then immediately decided against it. It felt a little bit too much like admitting defeat. And anyway, he’d still have to wait here, so he may as well do it while the wet sand froze his toes.

The wind was strong and frigid. The gusts bit into him, not that he really felt it, but his arms and legs had goosebumps and he was shivering.

His hair was too long; whipping into his face when the wind changed direction. His palm clenched around the USB drive. He shifted his weight back and forth on his heels, burrowing deeper into the ground.

Bruce had taken him to the beach, once, when he was still Robin. They’d been awkward about it, because they were better at rooftop parkour than regular civilian pastimes. Unpracticed at relaxing, because for all the skills Batman drilled him on, enjoying domestic activities was not one of them. And yet it was one of his happiest memories. He’d convinced Bruce to buy an obscene amount of inflatable beach toys from nearby tourist trap shops, and the water had been warm, and the sun had scorched them until Bruce caved in and bought them several ice cream cones. Each.

His fingers traced the outside of the memory stick, starting to get stiff from the cold.

He probably shouldn’t have waited outside. He’d told Tim to meet him on the beach at a specific time, and then decided to get there a bit earlier than his brother, to allay suspicion. That’s why they were meeting out here, after all, because this early in the year it was the least busy public space in town. The waves crashed loudly and the flat bare sand provided no protection against the cold spring air. Not a very high chance of being overheard by the few passersby brave enough to face the elements. And no places for cleverly hidden cameras or bugs to be slipped.

And maybe he’d come outside earlier than was strictly necessary, and maybe he’d been hoping to give himself enough time to… feel. Not necessarily enjoy the beach, or relax, but. Just to feel. To exist.

So far, he’d done a pretty lousy job of it.

His limbs were all sensitive to temperature and touch and all the rest. His eyes blinked and his lungs inhaled and exhaled. His muscles shivered, keeping his core organs heated sufficiently. And he could feel all that, physically, but.

He should be stressed. He was overwhelmed with patrolling Blüdhaven and caseloads from Gotham and this little recon project that he and Tim were doing, constantly thinking about Damian and hoping the boy was safe and happy in the Manor; his mind flit to his duties with the Titans. And he knew all that intellectually, but.

He almost felt like he was having an out of body experience. And really, he’d felt that way for at least a few weeks. He was in control of himself, and he was completely capable of doing everything, but it almost felt like he was watching himself. Like he was playing a video game, and everything was logical but not quite real. Or like watching a movie, where everything looked real but there was an obvious degree of separation between the viewer and the screen. Or like having a dream, but being aware it’s a dream, and so everything feels slightly fake and like it doesn’t matter quite as much as it should, and.

Emotionally, he was so unbelievably numb.

His throat had the tightening sensation that preludes a sobbing fit, but it was more physical than anything with feeling. As long as he didn’t talk, he’d be fine, and he could remain as he was, frozen and unfeeling and shaking and calm.

He heard a car door slam and knew Tim had finally arrived. He didn’t bother turning around; knew that Red Robin would easily be able to locate him. He bit on his lip, almost deep enough to draw blood, before he chickened out. He wasn’t quite willing to go that far to feel something.

Footsteps crunched over the sand, and then Tim was standing beside him. “You got it?”

Wordlessly, Dick held up the hand with the flash drive. He hoped Tim wouldn’t make him talk much, because his stupid throat was stupidly thick because his stupid brain had decided to drive him to the brink of tears despite not giving him the emotions to feel properly present.

Tim took it, and shot him an incredulous look. “Your fingers are freezing.”

He shrugged and gave a pre-memorized laugh and smile. “Yeah, I know.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

 _I want it to bother me,_ he didn’t say. _I just want to feel like I’m here; like I’m alive._

Tim’s face quickly tightened into concern, and Dick briefly wondered if he was more out of it than he’d realized and he’d actually said all his thoughts out loud.

He swallowed, in an attempt to convince his throat not to let any sobs escape. “Do you ever, just. Feel like you can’t… feel? Like, you’re looking through fogged up glass, and –“

“And everything’s a little fuzzy and not quite real?” Tim finished. “Yeah, it’s called depersonalization. It’s a type of dissociation. It used to happen a lot to me, after my dad died, and then again after Bruce got shot back into the timestream.”

Dick looked to his brother in surprise.

“I, uh, did some research,” Tim said, sheepishly. “Never did get around to therapy, but I wanted to understand what was going on in my brain, so.”

Dick nodded, not quite sure what to say. Not quite trusting his own voice.

“I’m not a kid, anymore,” Tim said hesitantly. “So don’t feel like you have to protect me from what you’re dealing with. I can help you, if, you want tips on how to deal with it.”

Dick smiled. “Thanks, Timmy.” His voice sounded rough, but he hadn’t burst into tears, so he decided to count that as a win.

He watched the waves come in, and they still didn’t feel any more real than they had before, but it helped to know that he wasn’t going crazy. That there was an actual name for what he was experiencing.

He gulped back more tears, and looked out at the ocean with Tim. The silence between the two of them filled comfortably by the sound of the water.

Numb, but not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, you guessed it, yet another vent fic. (Throwback to describing depersonalization to multiple people and having them suggest that I should just try to get more sleep. I don't hold it against them for not being mental health experts, but I do wish I'd had someone to explain what I was experiencing instead of dismissing it or blaming me for it. It probably wouldn't have taken me years to realize I was depressed.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not a mental health professional! But like Tim I've done my research, and unlike Tim I've also done the therapy, so hopefully this is helpful and realistic rather than confusing or misleading.


End file.
